


If Winter Ends

by aerialbots



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-13 22:30:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9145087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aerialbots/pseuds/aerialbots
Summary: There are memories more easily avoided when not sleeping on one's childhood bed; it would've been nice if this had occurred to any of them when Fergus first suggested it.





	

There is something to be said for a year sleeping in the woods making one forget what proper beds feel like, but as she tenses at yet another creak of the resting keep, Saoirse can only imagine that whatever it is, it isn’t very flattering.

There’s a louder noise at the door, and she flinches this time, memory and instinct fighting with rational thought, but Cadignan only whines gently, nosing her arm as if to soothe her frazzled nerves or encourage her to stand.

“Sear?”, comes the murmur of a question, settling the matter for good. Saoirse’s heart drops and slows at once, and she scrabbles to get off the bed, but opens the door as quiet and bland-faced as a mouse, the minute drop of her chin the only tell of her anxiety.

It’s still enough, for Alistair.

“Maker, look at you”, he says, something kind and pained in his eyes; Saoirse barely manages to disguise the hitch of her breath as a sigh as he steps inside, pulling her close and shutting the door in a single motion, but she makes no attempt to hide the way her hands clutch at his back, strained half-moons of his shirt trapped within her fists. “I thought– I didn’t want to presume, but honestly, next time I’m presuming first and apologising later.”

A watery laugh escapes her then, as shaky as the curve of her spine under his hands, but just as solid, too.

“I don’t know why… I mean, I guess Fergus thought I’d feel more comfortable in my old bed, and it _is_ inappropriate for us to share a room, but–” her voice catches, breaks, a harried inhale barely soothing her enough to speak, and she’s nowhere near calm enough to distract him from the wet spots she’s leaving on his shirt, “but I’d gotten so used to not being alone, and– and this damned _door_ –”

“Sweetheart”, he says, just the right mix of coaxing and heart-wrenchingly gentle, and it slips from her in a whisper.

“It doesn’t feel like home anymore”, she confesses, weighed down by a court of ghosts and this monstrous, monstrous admission.

The following quiet is unbroken save for the infernal creak of the door, and Cadignan’s breath as he watches from the bed. Alistair’s hold on her tightens, and he exhales hard against her hair, his voice steel sheathed in rose petals.

“Then we’ll make a new one, you and me”, he says, simple as that. Saoirse’s breath leaves her in a trembling sigh, and Alistair’s hand runs down her back, warm and familiar as campfire. “No doors involved, even, if they bother you so much. Mind you, we’ll probably mentally scar the servants and any visitors we get, and bathing _might_ get pesky, but, hey, can’t be as bad as the Orlesians – no offence to Leliana–”

Saoirse laughs again, quiet little huffs that grow in volume as he continues rambling oh-so-earnestly about their theoretical new home, until he’s promising her a room filled with daggers and an entire litter of mabari puppies she can spoil and name pretentiously to her heart’s content, and she’s laughing so hard her breath is coming in squeaking little wheezes.

“Lies, outrageous lies, I’m calling them all Alistair Junior”, she finally manages between giggles, and if her eyes are still a little teary, it can be blamed entirely on his sense of humour.

Alistair smiles into her hair, wide and dancing at the edge of affectionate and teasing. “Giant pack of tiny mabari with my name and Caddy’s fur, running amok in a castle with a hundred bathtubs and murder weapons and no doors. Sounds about right.”

Saoirse’s eyes close, the crescent of an answering smile on her face as she rests against his chest, and listens to his heartbeat. “Can’t wait.”


End file.
